I am melting. Along with the rest of the city, state, country, world.
When you wake up early and the temperature is 97-degrees, it’s hot. When 80-degrees indoors feels decadently delicious, it’s damn hot.
Spent four days in Oxford, Mississippi last week. I met with friends for breakfast one morning. Afterwards, we walked all over Oxford. I was dressed for breakfast, not for walking tour. My wardrobe never crossed my mind until we were halfway between here and hell. My jeans felt like they were made of aluminum wool. As did my shirt and sports bra. Tom’s are great shoes; they are not walking- for- 100- miles shoes. When we finally made it back to the MoJo (sort of hotel/motel facility), I drank any and everything in my room. Couldn’t get those jeans and shirt off fast enough. Turned the AC to zero and collapsed on the bed. I got up only when my body temperature reached a normal range. Lo and behold, when I looked back at the bed, it was a Shroud of Turin situation – had the shrouded person worn an electic orange sports bra. Whole body imprint. That, my friends, is HOT.
As I can think of nothing else, I’m offering my favorite “heat” sayings; am too hot to care what you do with them.
- “… a pair of sweat pants full of barbecue”
- “… a whore house on nickel night”
- “… a June bride on a feather bed”
- “… two rats having sex in a wool sock”
It’s so hot that…
- “… the chickens are laying hard-boiled eggs”
- “I saw two trees fighting over a dog”
- “I saw a fire hydrant chasing a dog”
In keeping with the dog theme, mine is apparently allergic to the heat. Each time I try to take him out (as in “do your business, damn it”), he runs. If I can catch him and drag him toward the door, he gives me the same look. The look that says, “Hey, Lady – are you kidding me? I’m wearing a fur coat!”.
Anyone know a good carpet cleaner?
Later. Maybe. After I move to Iceland. But I’m too hot to pack. Never mind.